Instincts and Intentions
by starry19
Summary: 5x6 Tag "There would be a time, he swore to himself, when he would make all of this up to her. The silence, the deflections, all of it. When he had time to think about his actions, the guilt almost consumed him." Jane/Lisbon, obviously. (Repost...x3)


**AN: **As much as I enjoyed last night's episode, I wanted to whack Jane in the head when he looked at Lisbon holding the elevator door open like, "Move, woman." I felt the need to fix this. Thus, we have a tag. I started writing this as Lisbon, but realized Jane's behavior ticked me off enough to make this story turn into the beginning of Anger and Forgiveness all over again.

More "Burnt Offerings" soon, I promise. And no crash helmets or riot gear will be needed for this story. Love you guys!

Later - Okay, sorry for the three re-posts. I have no idea what happened...sorry if you got spammed!

**Instincts and Intentions**

He was doing it again.

Pulling away from her, from the team. Operating under the cloak of omission and evasiveness. He had even gone so far as to move his tea pot up to the attic, eliminating one of his only reasons to interact with the rest of Serious Crimes.

He hated it, but he couldn't help it.

The worst moments were when he did something that blatantly hurt Lisbon, something that caused her eyes to deepen, for her jaw to tighten. She wore the aura of pain then, even if she tried to brush it to the side.

There would be a time, he swore to himself, when he would make all of this up to her. The silence, the deflections, all of it. When he had time to think about his actions, the guilt almost consumed him.

He'd tried to be better, giving their cases his attention, making a point of listening to her requests. He'd even started telling her where he was going most of the time, if not what he was doing.

It was a palliative rather than a remedy, however.

Lisbon knew when she was being left out of the loop, knew when he was going to great lengths to hide something from her. But like she had always done, she had let him go in the end.

She didn't know it, but she had the ability to make him stay. A few well aimed words, an errant tear, and he would let his shoulders slump and give into her pleas.

Hell, maybe she did know. She wouldn't use the knowledge, though. It was a card she never played, not once in all the years he had known her. She never manipulated people's emotions towards her. No "if you care about me, you won't do this," or "if you ever loved me, do this."

Not Saint Teresa. Her steadfast morality wouldn't allow it. She would rather be hurt than compromise her principles.

In deference to his better nature, the voice in his head that sounded like the aforementioned saint, he had called the police just as he entered Deputy Demunn's house that evening. Even when Lorelei was at stake, he wasn't willing to let a rapist walk away unscathed. The man wouldn't fare well in prison, but Jane doubted he would make it that far. Most likely, some industrious disciple of Red John would ensure Demunn wouldn't get much past processing at county jail.

Jane was a man who had loved a wife and a daughter, and had loved again since losing them. As such, he couldn't feel sorry about the deputy's fate. He could only be grateful that someone else's guilt had been useful. God knew his own hadn't done any good.

After leaving Demunn in the capable hands of the Sac PD, he had driven back to the office. The deputy had been helpful, certainly, but it wasn't the final piece he was looking for. Instead, it was another starting spot. However, it was more than he'd had at the beginning of the day, and he needed to get down to work.

Rationally, he knew he should go back to his hotel, take a shower, pop a couple of sleeping pills, and pass out for a few hours. But he pushed forward, deciding to raid the fridge in the break room before barricading himself in the attic. If he was lucky, there were a few slices of closed case pizza left that Rigsby hadn't devoured yet.

Unexpectedly, although not surprisingly, Lisbon's office light was on. Even on a good day, the woman would find something to hold her at work.

The pizza was on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. He fished out a paper plate and popped his leftovers in the microwave. Since he had come to work for the CBI, it seemed like he was having pizza at least once a week. It was a good thing; it meant that they had solved another murder, but he had gotten way too used to consuming an unhealthy amount of grease and cheese.

It was strange how much he had missed it in Vegas. Sure, it was easy enough to pick up a slice, but it wasn't the same. A stupid idea, but after they had closed the first case since his return, despite his worry about Lorelei, the pizza had tasted like home.

He shook his head. He was getting oddly sentimental in his old age.

The microwaved beeped. He scooped up his plate and crossed the hall, knocking on Lisbon's door. One of these days, he was going to work up the courage to just pull the handle like he used to.

"Come in," came her voice.

He pushed the door open with his hips, taking a bite of pizza.

She was bent over her desk, pen poised over another pointless form. Her eyes followed him as he sat on the couch.

"Remember that conversation we had in this very office not particularly long ago about you and paperwork?" he asked.

"I ignore most of the advice you give me," she deadpanned. "Besides, someone has to work around here."

They were on safe ground here – he teased, she gave it back, picking at the other's little habits. He held on to these moments, relished them.

"I got someone arrested tonight," he said, apropos of nothing.

She stared. "You did what?"

"Calm yourself, woman," he said, taking another bite of pizza. "It was for legitimate reasons."

"Explain," she demanded. "Now."

"The last driver I interviewed," he told her. "He was lying." He continued his story, glossing over the part where had committed a minor act of breaking and entering. Lisbon had raised an eyebrow, but let him finish his story.

"So he told you where Lorelei was?" Her expression was rapt, shocked.

He shook his head. "He told me where he dropped her off. There's not a chance in the world she's still there. I'd bet someone new picked her up two minutes later."

Lisbon finally dropped her pen to the surface of the desk. "So what are you going to do?"

"Figure out where she went," he shrugged. "It's a process."

She was silent for a bit, processing this new information. "I'm glad you called the police," she finally said. "I wish you would have told me, though."

He turned back to his rapidly cooling pizza. "I'm telling you now." He chewed, swallowed. "On an unrelated note, have I told you how proud I am of you?"

"Hm?" she asked, clearly nonplussed.

"You, with that nutty Sloane woman. Even before I told you I thought the kidnapper had an accomplice, you had her pegged as a liar. I'm impressed." And he had been. She had come to him in the attic, face set in a thoughtful frown, and told him what was on her mind.

He had concurred immediately, of course, since she was right. It was a novel thing, setting up a scheme with Lisbon as a player. He had done it a few times in the past, but she was such a horrible liar that it was a gamble whenever he went that route.

"Thank you," she said, smirking just a little.

"Your acting skills, on the other hand…" He turned the corners of his mouth comically down.

"Hey!" she protested. "There was absolutely nothing wrong with my performance!"

"Oh, please," he told her. "I've seen five year olds do a more convincing 'I've been hit!' scene. Really, you're far too dramatic."

Lisbon looked like she was searching for something to throw at him. "I was perfectly believable, thank you very much."

He didn't relax his skeptical expression. "I've been on the phone with you when you've _actually_ been shot, remember? You didn't sound anything like that." He paused, reliving those few moments when he hadn't know if she was dead or alive.

And there was reason number one why he kept trying to keep her out of his plans: the less she knew, the less of a chance there was that someone would take it upon themselves to punish her for her involvement.

Two minutes had been quite long enough to wonder if he was going to get to see her again, to tease her until her eyes sparkled, to smell her perfume mixed with the heat of her body. The sound of her breath, even labored, was one of the most perfect sounds he had ever heard.

Lisbon read his face, but kept their levity. "Sure, but no one would know I was hit if all I did was breathe heavily."

He conceded the point with a nod, tossing the now empty paper plate into her trashcan. "Yes, so you'd better make sure you tell us all. Twice."

She flicked a paper clip at him. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Only because Rigsby saved the whole performance," he said, unable to let her win.

This time, a box of tissues sailed his way. "Hey! Stop that, or I'll have you arrested for assaulting a police officer."

"Please, Jane," she said. "There isn't a judge in the county that would convict me. In fact, they'd probably ask me why I didn't hit you harder."

He waved a hand dismissively at her, swinging his legs up on the couch. Although he had intended to work on tracking down Lorelei's location, he was enjoying himself too much at the moment.

And it was another opportunity to mend some fences.

"This is the part where I tell you you're working too hard and need to go home," he said lightly. The woman really did need a social life. Or at least some time spent out of the four walls of this building.

"If you're going to be harassing, I'm going to kick you out," she told him, turning her eyes back to her work.

"Fine," he said. "I can tell when I'm not wanted." He made no move to go, though.

Instead, he lounged quietly, lost in thought, Lisbon's comforting presence in the background. Before he had gone away and left their relationship in tatters, he had gotten in the habit of doing this often.

He felt another twinge of guilt. They had been so close, so at ease. And then he risked it all. Like he had told LaRoche, it was better to regret something you did that something you didn't do. It was true for the trap that had given him Lorelei, but it didn't mean he thought there were no consequences. The relationship he had built with Lisbon was collateral damage.

If he was lucky, however, he could fix it.

Shifting his weight, he folded his arms behind his head. Her office was warm, peaceful, and it was far too easy to drift…

A soft weight covered him, velvet edge brushing his face. His eyes opened far enough to note how close Lisbon was, pink lips inches from his own as she leaned over to tuck a blanket around him.

For a moment, he strongly considered pulling her down to him, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He closed his eyes again.

"Good night," she whispered to him. "Please stay put and get some rest."

"Yes, Mom," he murmured, and was rewarded for his cheek with a light smack on the chest.

"I'm serious," she warned.

"I know," he told her.

She paused above him, he could tell, and then lightly brushed his hair off his forehead. He knew his lips were turned up.

"See you in the morning," she said, standing up straight.

"'Night, Teresa," he said back, and turned to his side as she flipped off the lights on her way out the door.

His mind cast itself around again, slowing spiraling into sleep. Today had been interesting. They had closed a case, he had gotten a new lead in his search for Lorelei, and he had irked Lisbon so much she had started throwing things at him.

All in all, he'd had worse days.

He wrapped his arms around a throw pillow. If he imagined hard enough, he could still smell cinnamon.

Yes, he'd definitely had worse days.


End file.
